


Wake-up Call

by soiwroteathing



Series: Learning to Live Without [1]
Category: Les Miserables, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, College, Coma, Heartbreaking, Hospitals, Implied Future Character Death, Les Miserables - Freeform, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:36:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soiwroteathing/pseuds/soiwroteathing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are better things to hear at two-something in the morning than what Grantaire got that Friday.</p><p> </p><p>"Grantaire, he's not waking up... he's in a coma and he's not waking up."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake-up Call

Heart attacks aren't supposed to happen to people in their twenties. Not healthy people. Not people who had so much to live for. Not Enjolras. Maybe it was brought on by stress (Jehan told him not to take 22 credits this semester, but Enjolras was never one to back down) or maybe it was a heart defect, something he had no control over. Grantaire didn't know the answer, and he didn't need to know. Knowing why would never be able to change the fact that he was standing over the comatose body of his best friend... and the only person he had ever truly loved.  
It had been three days since that Friday when Grantaire got the rudest wake-up call of his life. Combeferre had showed up at Grantaire's door at some ungodly hour of the morning, breathless and sobbing, barely able to choke out an explanation for his impromptu visit. "It's Enjolras," he mumbled around his tears. "He... he's at the hospital. He had a heart attack..." At this point the poor student broke off in a quiet sob. "Grantaire, he's not waking up... he's in a coma and he's not waking up."  
Grantaire shook the memory from his mind and sank into a chair by the bed of his love, clutching onto his hand. Maybe, Grantaire mused sadly, if I don't let go he can't slip away from me... And so he sat there for a long time, sometimes talking to Enjolras (they say hearing is the last thing to go, after all, and though it seem disgusting cheesy, Grantaire just couldn’t bear with the thought that he might miss his last opportunity to talk to Enjolras) and sometimes just thinking. He didn't let go of Enjolras's hand, he couldn't bring himself to. He hung on like he was trying to anchor his friend down, but maybe he was anchoring himself down because without Enjolras he would surely dissolve away into nothingness.  
-  
"Hey, R." Grantaire lazily opened his eyes to be rudely greeted with piercing artificial lights and the sight of Courfeyrac nudging him awake. "Sleeping on the job?" Courf asked sarcastically, thinly veiling the pain he felt for his friend and for himself. That was Courfeyrac for you- perpetually cracking jokes and smiling even during the toughest times. He was their center, the one who stands strong with a smile on his face when everyone else has crumbled to pieces. If he couldn't stay strong for his friends, who would?  
Grantaire's hand never left Enjolras's, even when he slept. Using his unoccupied hand, R rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "How long have I been asleep?" He asked, not able to keep the guilt from creeping into his voice. Courfeyrac shrugged.  
"I dunno. You were out like a light when I got here. It looked like you'd been here all night. You should go home-rest." He raised a hand, cutting off the artist's protests. "Go. Now. You look like a wreck and by my guess you haven't left his side yet, except, of course when the nurses shooed you out. And by shooed I mean dragged."  
"Courf-" The other man began irritably.  
"Taire," he replied, attempting to replicate his tone of voice. This earned him a frustrated glare. "Come on. I'll call you right away if anything happens. Bossuet is in the lobby and Joly gets off his shift in ten, they'll drive you home. Seriously, you haven't showered in three days do us all a favor." Grantaire grumbled a few choice words and looked regretfully at Enjolras. With a sigh, he gave Enj's hand one last squeeze and stood up, trembling. He might not have showered for a few days, but he hasn't had anything to drink either.  
By the time Grantaire approached the door to his- and Enjolras's, a little voice in the back of mind reminded him- apartment, he could barely keep his hands steady- although he wasn't quite sure whether it was an effect of withdrawal from alcohol or from Enjolras. In nearly the same way that the bottle called to him, Grantaire couldn't help but gravitate to Enjolras. There was something so beautiful and enticing about everything that he was. He was passionate in the rarest of ways- maybe it was the way he spoke or maybe the way his eyes lit up like a flame but somehow Enjolras had a way of infecting people with his passion. Even Grantaire, the self-proclaimed cynic, couldn't help but be swept up in the words of this boy, nearly a man, who was born to lead.  
With some degree of difficulty and a few shaky breaths, Grantaire finally mustered up the courage to open the door. It was unlocked. Grantaire laughed dryly to himself, thinking about how Enjolras would scold him for not locking up. Closing the door behind him, Grantaire turned to survey the flat. Just as I left it, he mused. The coffee table that sat parallel to the couch was still littered with beer bottles and a half empty glass of something. The blanket that had been covering him when Combeferre had come early Friday morning still lay crumpled up on the floor. In the kitchen, which was positioned to the left of the front door, there were dirty dishes in the sink and a piece of moldy cheese sitting on the dated island. Grantaire sighed at the state he had left the flat in (Enjolras would be horrified), popped open a fresh beer from the fridge to calm his shaky hands, and began to clean up, throwing out the empty bottles and loading the dirty dishes into their questionable dish-washer, internally hoping that it would work for once. He cleaned everything he could, trying his best to keep himself busy. Three beers later, the kitchen was spotless and he’d managed to restore some order to the living room.  
-  
He hadn’t cried yet-not at all. As Grantaire knocked back the bottle of vodka (beer just doesn’t always do the trick- so he was sure to keep a stash of hard liquor hidden from Enjolras), he still didn’t cry. He felt numb, dead. But at the same time he was so angry- furious at the world for trying to take away the only thing that has been good in his life. And it had taken so long to get Enjolras. He loved him from afar for two years before Enjolras even knew he existed. With a strangled scream, Grantaire threw the nearly empty bottle at the wall and watched as it’s clear contents dripped onto the gross-looking blue shag carpet below. (Enjolras always has hated that carpet, he noted somewhere in the back of his mind.) He hadn’t been this properly angry in a long time. Not since the last time he’d seen his father.  
Intoxicated and furious beyond belief, Grantaire tried screamed. He shouted and yelled until his throat was sore, then he screamed some more, pushing himself from his spot on his –their- couch, he collapsed to the floor. Exhausted, he fell asleep there, his breath tainted by alcohol and his eyes burning with tears that would not fall. 

And he stayed that way until yet another frantic knock came from the front door the next afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my tumblr: www.soiwroteathing.tumblr.com  
> please please comment! i'm dying for feedback- positive or negative!


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